The Meek Shall Inherit
by tifaxfinalxheaven
Summary: The life of a sky pirate did not suit Penelo as well as she had hoped. It pained her to realize that this life had been the key to unlock his cage, but the same to secure hers. LarsaPeneloBalthier.
1. Prologue: Realization

**Title**: The Meek Shall Inherit

**Rating**: T

**Pairing(s)**: LarsaPenelo, BalthierPenelo, one-sided VaanPenelo.

**Summary**: The life of a sky pirate did not suit Penelo as well as she had hoped. It pained her to realize that this life had been the key to unlock his cage, but the same to secure hers. Larnelo. Balnelo.

**Setting**: Five years after the events of Final Fantasy XII.

**Disclaimer**: If Final Fantasy XII belonged to me, I have the feeling I'd have an angry Viera and Queen breathing down my neck right now.

* * *

_Realization_

The life of a sky pirate did not suit Penelo as well as she had hoped.

For a number of years, she had tried to the best of her ability to learn to love the ironically mundane routine of navigating airships - Vaan had acquired three in their time together: the _Strahl_ (never really theirs in the first place, though they did adore the ship), the _Galbana_ (another mode of transportation that had been fleeting in their possession), and their first ship (finally fixed up to its former glory), the _Nova_ - and for years, she failed. In her time as more-or-less of a criminal, she found that the only duty on board she enjoyed was cooking. It was a gratifying outlet that let her be her naturally creative, inventive self. But serving meals to her insatiable partner and those they brought along on their flights grew tedious at times, and it was not long before she wondered how long she could go on like this. With all the catering, cleaning, navigating - and sleeping, when her wistfulness would permit - she felt like a housewife. Although, she was neither a wife, nor the keeper of a house.

Sometimes, she resented that fact.

And, fewer times than that, she resented Vaan. Of course, there was an inescapable shame that followed such feelings of ire, especially when it came to her closest and dearest friend. There was not a doubt in her mind nor heart that she loved Vaan, despite all of his little quirks that simply did not sit well with her (such as his innate need to ignore her often concern-provoked nagging, as well as his short-sightedness, and regrettably, his blatantly selfish tendencies), and would never dream of doing anything to hurt him.

However, it pained her to see how free he was in his airships, how happy he was to do what he pleased; he was so enraptured to wander about the skies above Ivalice, picking up the treasures and odd jobs that piqued his interest.

It pained her to realize that this life had been the key to unlock his cage, but the same to secure hers.

She had been free to cease all of this ridiculous sky pirating business, and yet, she did not. For that, she blamed herself, and knew that Vaan could only be held accountable for so much. And that so much was, in truth, very little. Even less was truly his fault.

For as long as she could remember, Vaan's part in her life had been considerable. Childhood friend, childhood crush (although, that _was_ after Reks had politely let her know he was not interested in her affections past the point of camaraderie). He was her emotional crutch, pillar of strength, leader - he was so much to her, and she could only barely repay him by remaining at his side. If that was even what he wanted. More and more often it seemed that she was an unnecessary soul within the _Nova_. Yes, her navigation skills were superior to Vaan's - as was her culinary expertise by exponential amounts - but there were many capable, trustworthy navigators who would jump at the opportunity to take her place, not to mention cooks were easy to come by and worked for cheap.

If she left, would it really matter all that much?

The question made her feel strange, cold. A year she and Vaan had been - for the most part - separated after the defeat of Vayne. She settled back into Rabanastre. He took to the skies. It was then she was unrestrained to do all the things she wanted, all the things she had not the time nor means for during the war. Among them, the performing arts. She took to the stage with reckless abandon, becoming a well-revered dancer of Dalmasca within a matter of months. Every moment of her life was alight with twirls and swings and glorious footwork that made her dizzy with euphoria - to paid to do what she loved, that was a dream come true. But soon, her name was common speak in most Dalmascan settlements, and before she could stop to think, the piling offers and responsibilities had become intimidating. It was beyond overwhelming for this girl who had - just over a year ago - been running errands for some kind, unknown shopkeeper.

Not a single day of that year did Vaan abstain from distracting her thoughts. Not being able to see his face, hear his voice - it was the most distressing torture. Even with Filo and Kytes and all of the other orphans she had grown to know as family surrounding her, supporting her… somewhere in her heart, there was an agonizingly familiar hurt. She recognized it at once: the pain of something - rather, _someone_ - missing. Ephemeral run-ins (which almost _always_ happened by chance, as Vaan seemed infinitely too busy for planning) between she and her best friend were not enough to soothe the dull ache in her chest.

The coming end of those twelve months could not have been more unhurried if she had cast Slow on it. When the opportunity arose, she had joined Vaan as his navigator with such fervor, he'd jokingly asked her identity - this was not the careful, fretting girl whom he had grown up with. She didn't complain nearly enough!

He had been fine that whole year. She had been a mess. An accomplished mess who danced as fiercely the whirlwinds on the Estersand, but a mess nonetheless. And while he did, on many occasions, mention that he had missed her company, she did not quite believe it was to the extent she had him.

Four years passed since she rejoined him. Their adventures brought treasure and loss; joy and suffering; enlightenment and ignorance. She learned many things (her favorite being that Balthier and Fran were quite alive and well, though still as enigmatic as ever), and perfected her magicks in her spare time. Albeit, she had hoped her days of fighting would end with the war, but Vaan fancied her abilities useful on hunts. Of course he would, she thought with a smug curve of the lips, seeing how rash he could be in the heat of battle. In his defense, though, he _had_ become more skilled in the craft - for that, Penelo was glad.

Still, she was thoroughly and supremely discontent. Twenty-two years old. She was an adult, permitted to do what she liked, when she liked! And if she so happened to break the law, well, she had connections. Not that she would ever dream of doing so without reason - too morally inclined, something Balthier had always found "mind-numbingly dull" about her (even if he _had_ said it with an impish glint in his stare). As for her connections…

Ashe was so busy with restoring Dalmasca in the past years. She did, every once in a while, send royal invitations to the pair when they could be found. It was nice to catch up over tea; to see the healing pride in their queen's eyes when she spoke of the progress their kingdom was making and all else that would be done made Penelo glad for her. She seemed so… happy, now. Stressed? Unbelievably so. But she was doing something that meant more to her than anything in all of Ivalice. As Vaan's short-attention span was a constant in their hectic lives, meetings were typically brief. Lamentably, Penelo would leave the castle grounds craving more than an hour's worth of talk.

And then there was Larsa. Like Ashe, he too was busy. He took Archadia's well-being to heart and had committed himself entirely to righting the wrongs and misdeeds of six generations worth of varying Solidor corruption. But he was not too busy to ignore the letters Penelo went out of her way to send him, which brought her more delight than Rozarrian honey cakes.

And _that_, was saying something.

Penelo loved receiving Larsa's replies. His letters were so eloquent and thoughtful, as if he had put all of his elsewhere-needed attention in his work, just to humor this silly, lonely little girl. His penmanship was supreme, as was his diction, among countless other things. Not that she was surprised; Larsa was taught far more and far better than she had been. She marveled at the flawless loops and slopes of ink against the parchment that smelled faintly of the sender himself, tracing her fingers over the elegant print. At times, the Rabanastran didn't know whether to read the message or frame it. Usually, she would settle on admiring the page (actually, _pages_; Larsa never sent less than two, front-to-back) for a few minutes to build suspense, then immersed herself whole-heartedly in what he would tell her.

His responses also came quickly, much to her surprise. They were composed with such finesse and consideration, but never took more than a week to reach her awaiting hands. Needless to say, she felt terribly guilty that she did not always perform at the same rate. She was usually wrapped up with Vaan when this happened - either exhausted by a time-consuming hunt, or exasperated by the man himself. Writing when she was angry did not appeal to her in the slightest. It would be unfair if she accidentally vented to him - an _emperor_ - when he already had so much on his plate. Deciding that she were to do him a kindness, she never started her own letters until she calmed.

Unfortunately, the reply had usually slipped her mind by the time she did.

When he didn't get a letter from her within two months, he would send another.

The female sky pirate found Larsa's concern for her well-being touching, to say the least. He would ask her what had happened, inquire as to why there was such a lapse in their exchange. Was she all right? Eating well? Sleeping well? He would typically make a sentence or two in relation to Vaan, but as a whole, remained focused on her. He addressed her questions about Archades, kept her updated on the petty styles of the city (for some reason, she found herself oddly intrigued - they had silk underwear!) that never stayed the same, and - if she wanted to know (which she usually did not) - he told her about Archadia's current political achievements and challenges.

Oddly enough, he did not speak much of himself. Penelo was ardent he tell her more about how he was faring. After all, she told him all he wanted to know and more. She told him things she never even thought about telling Vaan, though the blond may have figured some of them out on his own.

Since when had _Larsa_ replaced her best friend's spot as trusted confidante? The answer eluded her, and she only pressed on that he tell her more about how he was faring. If she remembered correctly, his birthday was soon approaching. Seventeen years old. Penelo stifled an indignant huff; never before had she felt so… aged. It seemed like just yesterday he was twelve, saving her from Judge Ghis outside the Lhusu Mines, and more than half a foot shorter than herself - despite the heel to his boots. But he had spoke with more maturity and grace than she and Vaan combined, that she was _convinced _he was at least another year older.

It filled her with a peculiar dejection to think that she had not seen him since the Lemures ordeal. He had been only thirteen then, but confident and admirable in his handling of the Empire. The top of his head was at eye-level then, and she remembered being so impressed by his growth for some reason. He had merely offered her a precocious smirk and said, "I do believe that is what maturing individuals do, Penelo. Though _some_ stop prematurely."

Such lip! He had called her short! And, possibly, immature. But all Penelo recalled doing was blushing, and making a quick leave to rejoin Vaan by the _Galbana_. She would have been more offended, however, had she not been distracted by the quirk of his mouth. It was something that would make Balthier proud - or jealous, seeing as he was not quite as fond of Larsa as the others. Wherever had the young emperor picked _that_ up?

It was no use to linger on the thoughts of the young Larsa. While she didn't suppose that he had changed much - if at all - in terms of personality and endearing charm, she was openly curious as to what he looked like. Four years was a long time for a teenage boy to shape and form. How tall was he now? Did he still wear his hair long? Had he further raided Balthier's expression closet?

In any case, a visit was long overdue. It seemed this opinion was mutual between the parties, as Larsa often requested she and Vaan come to Archades to reminisce and make up for lost time wherein he missed the light-hearted smiles of their faces. He had become too acquainted to the grim visages of the Senators, Larsa explained, change was very much needed and appreciated.

Penelo had written him a letter quickly after receiving his latest. It was only half a page long and scrawled down in an embarrassingly sloppy hand, but she felt that the content would more than make up for it.

_Dear Larsa,_

_I'm glad to hear that you're doing well. You sound tired, though. Your writing seems a little weary, but maybe it's just me. Well, instead of waiting for you to cleverly evade my question in your next message like normal, I've decided that I should see you myself. _

_Yes, I really am coming to Archades for a visit, so please rub that look of surprise from your face. Speaking of, I haven't seen you for almost four years. It doesn't seem that long, does it? Amazing how time flies when you're on an airship with hyperactive sky pirates. _

_Anyway, today is the fifth. I'll be arriving in a week - the day before your birthday. I hope you didn't think I forgot. Seventeen. Goodness. I feel ancient…_

Twenty-two years old. She was an adult, permitted to do what she liked, when she liked.

And the only things keeping her from living this life - _her_ life - was a cage called the _Nova _and an undying loyalty to its captain.

But it was time to spread her wings. She couldn't be living under Vaan's any longer, no matter how much she thought she needed him - or vice versa. Loyalty did not mean sacrifice.

If she was going to leave, this was the time. Her letter continued.

_Unfortunately, Vaan can't come with me. He has an important mark to track down or something. Apparently, it's a big one. To be honest, I'm more than a little worried. I think he can handle it by himself, though. He's capable, as you know, just simple. Haha. _

_He sends his regards and wishes you a happy early birthday. _

_Back to my visit, I hope you don't mind if I stay a while. Neither of us are sure as to when Vaan would be able to return for me, and you always said the doors were forever open, should we choose to enter them. You're very cryptic, you know? But I guess that's what makes you, you, Larsa. I like that._

_The seemingly old lady,_

_Penelo_

_PS - I'm getting you a present. That's that._

_PSS - Vaan has no involvement in this present. It will be all me. Understand? No thank you cards this time._

_PSSS - I miss you._

The letter would be on its way to Archadia now. The wheels had been set in motion. All she had left to do was gather what clothes she could fit in her bags and hunt down a certain sky pirate who romanticized the role of the leading man.


	2. Chapter 1: Determination

_Determination_

When Penelo woke up, she did not feel any different. Nothing reminded her that, in less than two days now, she would be in Archades, helping celebrate the Archadian emperor's seventeenth birthday.

She mentally prepared to go through the same routine that she had gone through nearly every day for the last four years, all while trying to quell the odd fuss agitating her stomach at the mere thought of leaving the _Nova_. There was no backing out now; Larsa expected her, as did Balthier, though he did not know it was she who had lured him in with a false bill for a mark. Nor was he aware that she would be propositioning him for a ride into the city, for ease of traveling.

Had she always been this sneaky?

Pushing all thoughts of emperors, sky pirates, and newfound cunning aside, Penelo reluctantly left the haven of her bed. Immediately, she missed the delicious warmth of her blankets and duvet as cold air hit the skin of her legs that her thin cotton nightgown did not quite reach. She sighed, wanting nothing more than to crawl back under the sheets and sleep for another two hours, ambitions be damned. She _had_, after all, kept herself up late last night with numerous thoughts of how the next couple days would turn out and was rather exhausted. Nothing motivated her to get dressed and move over to the kitchen to make breakfast for Vaan and herself. She wasn't hungry, and soon, Vaan would have to learn to provide for himself. It couldn't be _that _hard - he'd done it for a full year and managed to not die of food poisoning or starvation.

Still, for old times' sake, it seemed like the right thing to do. If her wishes would be granted, this would be the last time she was on the _Nova_, making breakfast for a throw-all-caution-to-the-wind boy that was her best friend. She would not feel obligated to return to him nor the life she knew she was not meant to live. Of course, she still wanted the relationship between them to last - Vaan could not be removed from her life; he was a part of her that she could never be rid of. But this horrible, incessant need to stand safe in his shadow… that, had to end. She didn't know how she would accomplish this goal, but Penelo was positive it started with time apart.

In a matter of seconds, she had slipped out of her sleeping attire and into a plain blue chiffon dress hemmed right above her knees. Over it, she wrapped a light traveler's cloak around her neck and shoulders. Rabanastre was still warm at this time of year, but she needed the anonymity of the hood to get to the _Sandsea_ without anyone noticing. True, Vanish was convenient to use when trying to be incognito, but she had left her bags within one of the rooms she had rented - and the barkeep needed both name _and_ face identification before handing over the key. Randomly 'materializing' at the counter might cause a bit of an unnecessary commotion.

Penelo shoved her feet into her boots unceremoniously, pulling tightly on the edges and giving a little shimmy to ensure the whole of her dainty appendages were inside the bottom. She sighed once more, from her gut. She really _was _doing this. In moments, she would make Vaan breakfast, wait for him to leave to hunt the mark in the north Giza Plains, and be off, traversing the streets of Rabanastre like a criminal on chase. Carefully, she would avoid the places she knew Filo and Kytes and the other children played, and then make a beeline for the _Sandsea_, where Balthier (and Fran, most likely) waited for their mission debriefing.

Steeling herself, the blonde took a deep breath before opening gingerly door before her.

The air instantaneously left her lungs in a short yelp.

* * *

Vaan's eyes rivaled the size of the saucers Ashe used for their tea parties. His fist was still poised in the air, knuckles ready to tap the metal surface of her bedroom door, when she had opened it and let loose a shriek in - _what he hoped was _- surprise.

"Hey, Pen… I just… wanted to check in on you before I left." He forced out, plainly shook up by Penelo's waking unruliness. Speaking of, the look his best friend was giving him was nothing short of irritated - an explanation was called for. "It's already a little past noon; usually you're up by now."

The girl before him blanched. "Noon?" She repeated, baffled. Her jaw dropped as if suddenly weighted with lead. She _never_ slept in. Every morning she rose just shortly after the sun, and she had been relying on this simple idiosyncrasy to prove itself useful _instead_ of flaking out on her. She was to be meeting Balthier in less than an hour or so. Damn it. Why couldn't Vaan be more specific with his time updates? Or more prompt in investigating her well-being?

"It's… noon? _Already_?" Gods above, her heart felt ready to give out. Her voice was no more than a squeak.

Vaan nodded, slowly, shifting in his stance. He folded his arms against the bare skin of his chest, tightly. "Yeah. It is." He replied, voice clipped. An eyebrow was raised in suspicion, and she could tell by the way he was ever so slightly puckering his lips, he had questions. "Are you feeling okay? You don't look too good."

_No_, she wanted to snap, _I'm not feeling okay and you're blocking the only exit out of my room_. He needed to move out of her doorway. _Now_. Penelo desperately needed to be going. If her calculations were correct, it would take at least ten minutes to reach the city walls from where they were in the plains, another fifteen to dart to the _Sandsea_… She groaned mentally. And then there was the matter of having to avoid familiar faces. Who knew how much time she would have to put into steering clear of her big-mouthed - though lovable - 'family'. All the more reason to get the show on the road.

Penelo reached out and placed a small hand on Vaan's shoulder, curving her fingers tentatively around the sun-kissed flesh there. With a smile that betrayed the sinking feeling in her heart, she nodded. "Sure thing. I'm just a little off, you know? From sleeping in." What a fantastic lie that was. Had she not added that last part, she was positive guilt wouldn't now be eating at her resolve.

_Note to self, stop saying more than needs to be said._

The older Rabanastran didn't persist. He never did, as it was his firm belief that Penelo hadn't any reason to lie to him. Honesty had been an esteemed value within their household growing up, though Vaan would be lying if he said he'd stuck to it as well as his navigator. He simply beamed in return, patting her hand with his own. "Good. Now I won't have to postpone hunting down that mark." The faint element of dissatisfaction fled from him immediately; Penelo almost missed its presence there to begin with and faulted her distrait state of mind. Gently, he removed her hand from his shoulder and turned to leave. "I'll see ya later, all right, Pen?"

"Of course." She nodded once more, fighting back the twitch in her lips. She tried not to think of the faith in his warm grin, or the fraternal incandescence of his eyes. _Think of all the things you could be doing, _she thought,_ if you weren't here going through these self-same motions with him._

The mage watched him as he lazily waved her goodbye, spun around, and darted off to find what would be his small happiness for the day. It surprised her that she was still standing in the threshold of her bedroom minutes after he left, consumed by the funny, tingling sensation of loneliness and liberation that stemmed from her toes to her ears. He was gone. It was her time.

And time was running out.

Panic quickly replaced the contemplative mood that had overcome her just seconds before, and her legs began to move as quick as she could will them. The heels of her boots clacked enthusiastically against the steel floor of the hallway, she turned into the next corridor, and into the main space of the ship. Silently, she said her farewells to the small, homely kitchen to her right, and to the main control room that would be ahead.

_Promise yourself you won't miss this, Penelo._ Came the adamant voice in her head.

The blonde ignored the tell-tale stinging of her eyes and released the breath she did not know she had been holding.

"I promise."

* * *

"You are unwise to be drinking. Should the poster meet your person whilst inebriated, I am not certain that his faith in your hunting abilities shall be strong."

"Fran, your words spark doubt as to if _your_ faith in my abilities are strong." Balthier drawled in reply, looking up at the Viera with a slight gloss to his stare. "It is one glass, and I daresay it shan't do as much harm as you would think."

"One glass of a _different_ poison. Five tall glasses of Bhujerban spirits have you emptied in the past two hours."

He hummed for a moment, feigning thought. Truth be told, he did not want to be playing this game with his partner, nor did he want to be in the _Sandsea_ - he did not wish to remain in Rabanastre, for that matter. The reward promised on the placard was the only thing keeping him in his seat presently, beside the alcohol that was burning in his veins. This billposter was insufferably late and patience had never been the sky pirate's forte. The idea that whatever creature the sap had wanted killed had done him in first was becoming more and more likely with every passing second. "Yes, well, one more can't hurt."

"You are distant today, as you were yesterday and the day preceding." Fran murmured. Her hands met the sultry curve of her hip, long nails drummed against her café au lait skin. "I sense something is disturbing you, and yet I cannot place it. Why is it you hide?"

_And, cue the shame_. Balthier sighed and fixed a deceiful smile on his countenance, craning his neck up to meet the scrutiny of soft red eyes. She was searching his gaze for anything that would betray his meticulously trained heart - that much was obvious. He supposed her bottomless well of reserved concern was something to be flattered by, but the feeling did not come naturally. If no one ever realized what went on inside his chest, he could die a rather fulfilled man. "Now, now, I hardly think this is the time nor the place for such a discussion, hmm?"

"You do not deny."

"Nor do I agree." He said, pointedly. With a sigh, he scooted back in his chair, away from the table and empty glasses littering its surface, and rose to his feet. Odd, he thought as he battled the sway in his knees, it was too early for his head to be swimming with the buzz of spirits, considering his tolerance to the drink was rather high.

_Something to look into: how high is the proof of Bhujerban Madhu_?

"Well," Balthier continued, as Fran did not make sound in reply to his previous comment. (He had always liked that about her; she knew when to stop pushing, if she even _began_ to push in the first place.) "I suppose our leave is overdue. Our lovely prospective customer seems to have either loss track of the time or been eaten. A pity, that."

There was not time for so much as Fran to draw breath for words before the doors to the tavern were opened with such gusto they slammed against the walls, shaking the establishment with subtle tremors. A tense silence befell the bar and the majority of relatively sober faces turned to see what had caused the ruckus. All eyes fell upon a small, lithe figure, clad in blue and brown, lingering in the front of the building. It was quite apparent that - whoever it was - was a female, and her chest expanded and deflated at a tempo that could only be reached during intense labor. Or feeling. Considering the scene she made, it was possible a combination of the two was the culprit.

Balthier warily approached the railing of the second floor to get a better glimpse of the main attraction, forearms pressed against the balustrade in a captivated lean. He could feel the cool metal through his shirt sleeves, but it did not distract him from the sight below.

The poor thing stood there, frozen and panting quietly (though it was the loudest noise within the pub presently) for a few moments before clearing her throat.

"… Um, excuse me."

_

* * *

_

Dear Larsa,

_I'm glad to hear that you're doing well. You sound tired, though. Your writing seems a little weary, but maybe it's just me. Well, instead of waiting for you to cleverly evade my question in your next message like normal, I've decided that I should see you myself. _

_Yes, I really am coming to Archades for a visit, so please rub that look of surprise from your face. Speaking of, I haven't seen you for almost four years. It doesn't seem that long, does it? Amazing how time flies when you're on an airship with hyperactive sky pirates. _

_Anyway, today is the fifth. I'll be arriving in a week - the day before your birthday. I hope you didn't think I forgot. Seventeen. Goodness. I feel ancient…_

_Unfortunately, Vaan can't come with me. He has an important mark to track down or something. Apparently, it's a big one. To be honest, I'm more than a little worried. I think he can handle it by himself, though. He's capable, as you know, just simple. Haha. _

_He sends his regards and wishes you a happy early birthday. _

_Back to my visit, I hope you don't mind if I stay a while. Neither of us are sure as to when Vaan would be able to return for me, and you always said the doors were forever open, should we choose to enter them. You're very cryptic, you know? But I guess that's what makes you, you, Larsa. I like that._

_The seemingly old lady,_

_Penelo_

_PS - I'm getting you a present. That's that._

_PSS - Vaan has no involvement in this present. It will be all me. Understand? No thank you cards this time._

_PSSS - I miss you._

Larsa Ferrinas Solidor had cleared much of his schedule for the next week the moment he finished the last post-script, finding himself fueled by the sudden rush of warmth in his chest and cheeks. Much of the castle staff was puzzled by this development, those who had been called in (with the exception of Basch) were under the impression he was ill; it was uncharacteristic for their lord to brush away his obligations on short notice. Not to mention there was such color in his face and an almost inconspicuous amount of sweat beaded across his forehead. The maids began to dote on him, but 'Gabranth' - much wiser than the majority of them put together - had quashed a chuckle and asked, "When shall we be expecting her?"

Meetings had to be kept, but in the emperor's spare time, he did nothing but plan for Penelo's stay. Her room would be not too far down the hall from his study, should she ever need him during the time they did not have scheduled for visiting. In her closet, the finest garments made of refined silks, cashmere, and other exotic materials hung, ready for her. Penelo was always wrapped up about the fashion in Archades, and now she would be able to experience it first hand. Larsa did not expect she would enjoy the more… _painful _aspects of it, such as corsets and toe-pinching shoes, but he sincerely hoped she would find the softer trends pleasant.

Secretly, he wondered if she would accommodate him by wearing them about the castle.

Er. No. That would be nonsense. Penelo would wear what she pleased. His - as Basch would say - _fluctuation of hormones _would have no bearing on what she felt comfortable adorning and what she did not. Feel comfortable in, he meant, _not _not-wearing clothes and-

The young man sighed and tried to shake his head free of decadent thoughts involving dancers in garments and lack thereof. There was an important matter at hand: reconstruction and improvement of Old Archades. Economy had never been his strong suit, and so it was even more critical that he pay attention to the budget details related to the affair. There was no room for reveries of blonde mages in the consulate, regardless of how dull that made things. She would arrive in two days' time. The impatience in himself protested that it was not soon enough, but his self-control was near impenetrable.

Mentally rejoining the debate, Larsa turned his attention to one of the new Judges. This one was fairly young (though older than Larsa by a number of years), but not as idealistic as he would expect. If anything, he countered most appeals vehemently - never resorting to harsh words or actions, but more than able to capture attention. Needless to say, when he spoke, everyone listened.

"… There are simply more pressing concerns within Archadia that could benefit from the resources we would expend on embellishing a _slum_."

"Judge Raites, if you would enlighten us to those more pressing concerns?" The adolescent Solidor urged, voice unobtrusive and thoughtful. Immediately, the court was re-aware of his presence, the clinking of helmet-covered heads pivoting in his direction was unmistakable. Five years in power and the notion they could still overlook his place annoyed Larsa to no end, but never did he act on it. Losing his composure would give them reason to take him lightly, like they would a child giving tantrums. "I do not aim to disrupt your lobby, however, I am quite interested as to why we are not yet cognizant of dealings that merit our time."

Quiet blanketed the room. The armored man who had been holding the floor appeared to squirm before letting out a frustrated sigh.

"Perhaps there are none right now, but we cannot go spending funds so frivolously!" He explained, hearing murmurs of dissent amongst the others. Larsa resisted the urge to lift an eyebrow and continued to observe the defensive man. "If something does come up, we should be prepared. Our army should be well-supported, our people protected…"

"If this has any relevancy to our current relations with Rozarria, please do say so now." Larsa never was one to beat around the bush. Raites's revulsion to the rival empire was no secret, and the young ruler would not tolerate personal bias clouding the minds of his law makers and upholders. "Our diplomatic efforts are making substantial headway in creating peace between our nations. And while there is still unease, I am certain armistice will be achieved in the near future."

"Yes, but…" Raites trailed off, defeated. Though he settled back into his seat, the sense that he had more to say was almost palpable in the consulate.

"The issue returns to the fate of Old Archades." The sound of Gabranth's deep baritone filled the room up to the domed ceiling overhead. "We have yet to reach a consensus."

"I believe it might raise morale for those dwelling there. Raites, you have said many times that your prime interest is in the well-being of the people of Archadia. What better way to help their spirits than to give aid to their residency?"

Raites did not verbalize a response, but gave a reluctant nod to the Judge who had addressed him, Viscovit. She had been the last rookie before Raites came along, and had an amusing way of staying on his tail throughout each meeting. Larsa found this refreshing; there one less thing to do himself.

Another hour of deliberation went by before the court unanimously agreed upon the renovation of Old Archades. Some _aye_'s could have passed for _nay_'s, however, with the disinclination they had been spoken with, and the young emperor found himself subduing a sigh.

He would never reach seventeen at this rate.

* * *

**A/N**: A personal thank you to Marta for the review. (:

Vocabulary:

Raites - Sounds just like _rates_.

Viscovit - _Viss coh vee_.

I don't own anything of FFXII besides this writing and the OC's accompanying it.


	3. Chapter 2: Mortification

_Mortification_

Not once in Penelo's life had she been so thankful for hoods.

The innumerable eyes of the tavern-goers seemed to cluster as one, and in that instant, she was vaguely reminded of a Malboro she had fought in the Salikawood that did nothing but stare at her with morbid fascination. Its queer examination of herself was almost worse than Bad Breath and its debilitating effects, though far more daunting than its awkward lunges that were more annoying than terrifying. The glint of its beady black eyes had reflected her countenance in dozens of slimy mirrors and she wanted nothing more than to chop all of them off at the stalks.

And that was exactly what she did.

However, she had reservations about doing the same here, in the quaint little bar known as the _Sandsea_. Somehow she felt that gouging out the curious, unblinking eyes of all the patrons would, in fact, hurt her case further. An amusing thought hit her: Vaan would be jealous - the reward on his wanted sign would look like chump change compared to hers. Pulling herself from the thoughts of rash sky pirates, all she could do was dip her head in an apologetic bow and take timid little steps toward the counter, trying to ignore the stares boring holes through her clothes and into her skin.

Penelo braced herself against the wooden surface separating her from the barkeep who had her keys, nails digging into the polished worktop. A wave of relief crashed through her as the delightful sound of chatter began to start up again; she could only imagine how stupid she looked with a lop-sided grin plastering itself on her reddened face.

"You caused quite the scene there, missy."

"I'm sorry, Naldy." She muttered, watching the balding man behind the counter dry a mug with pretend interest. The smile disappeared. "I was in such a hurry. I guess I just wasn't thinking."

"Something you and Vaan always had in common." Naldy snorted. There was the distinctive hint of amusement in his tone, regardless of his perpetual apathy.

Well, _that_ was certainly uncalled for. Leave it to Naldy to disregard all possible tact in a conversation and dish out blunt opinions like booze to an alcoholic. Penelo chewed her bottom lip to kept the scowl from tainting her face and inadvertently shoved her fingernails deeper into the oak to keep herself reigned in. "Whatever you say. Can I please just have my key now?"

"Of course." The barkeep shrugged and pulled a box out from a cubby behind the counter. Penelo could hear the faint jingle of metal against metal ringing from inside. "What room were you?"

"Three."

"Gotcha." Naldy opened the silver container and scanned its contents for a moment. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly and the dancer could sense the worry beginning to fester in her belly.

"What is it?" She asked, rising on the tips of her toes to get a better glance of the caddy, but to no avail. "What's wrong?"

The middle-aged tavern-master scratched at the round patch of skin peeking through the mix of salt and pepper hairs. "Well, one of the newbies must have fooled around with the key tin, because the whole thing is a wreck now." He looked up at her, contrite. "Give me a minute, wontcha? Why don't you have a drink while you wait? You were always too young before, but you deserve one now. On the house."

Penelo politely declined his offer, shaking her covered head softly. "I'm fine. Thanks, though." A beat. She spoke discreetly. "But, could you call me over when you find it? I was supposed to meet someone here and I wonder if they haven't left yet." She explained, chary to say more than was required of her.

"Sure thing."

"Thanks, Naldy."

"My pleasure." He gave her a wry smile. "Does Vaan know you're out having trysts he doesn't know about?"

"_Thanks_. _Naldy_." The poison dripping from her words and the dangerous edge to her tone immediately put him back into his place; his lips pursed, as they should have.

She smiled graciously, struggling to repulse the desire to take him by the neck and give it a decent throttle, and turned away from the counter and the irritating man stationed there. Her hands were balled into trembling fists at her side.

What would it matter to Vaan if she _was_ out for a rendezvous of the… _intimate_ persuasion? After all had been said and done about the Lemures situation, she had made her feelings more than clear.

The events of that final day were somewhat hazy in her recollection, but after all the farewells they had made, the pair had snuck off to be alone (to do what, they weren't sure themselves) - ignoring the questioning looks and cries coming from the friends they left behind - with the giddiness of the moment bubbling in each of their guts.

The smell of spice and something delicate resonated from his person, wafting up from his bronzed skin, intoxicating her as she pressed her cheek and nose against the source. Penelo felt so extraordinarily right in the firm embrace of his arms as he carried her away, absently curious as to whether he felt the same as he held her. She had to know.

Eventually, he had set her down, though Penelo did not recall when or where this happened. All that she could remember was a kiss - simple and chaste - that she had placed on his lips. He did nothing but smile in his infectious way, lighting up his face and eyes. So innocent, so pure. In a way, he had almost resembled Reks in that instant, with the muted moonlight giving Vaan's platinum hair a dusky tint and the gentle temperate breeze floating through Rabanastre pushing random tendrils across his forehead. She didn't dare verbalize a note of it, however, for fear of upsetting them both. On impulse, she found herself repeating the words she had once told his older brother when she was eleven and he fourteen. Three words that meant the world for her to admit; three words that brought her the sweetest, most endurable pain.

'_I love you.'_

He didn't said anything, letting the words hang in the air to grow cold and stale with neglect. The grin dimpling his cheeks faltered slightly before disappearing altogether. A dubious look etched itself on his visage, wrinkling his brow and drawing his mouth into narrow line. The sight made her scared; her heart went into overdrive, beating wildly against the fleshy confines of her chest. She felt vulnerable for the first time in a year and it was, as always, her fault. The breath left her lungs to shrivel and she could feel the apples of her cheeks burning with embarrassment - with the shame that she had allowed herself to feel this way.

'_I don't… I'm not ready for this, Pen.'_

She should have known. Vaan was still maturing at his own, slow pace. Romantic love was probably a foreign concept to him, Penelo consoled herself, it was silly to expect reciprocation from a nineteen-year-old rascal with the brain of a Bagoly.

'_Oh.'_

She had said it so dumbly. The sound (it really could not pass as a word) had tumbled off her tongue with the least amount of grace imaginable. Still, it was hard to focus - much less provide _interesting conversation_ - with her stomach tightening in her middle, as if someone had it in their squeezing hold, threatening to let loose all she had eaten that night to paint the cobblestones with vibrant sickness. It churned and contorted mercilessly with shock, but all she could manage was that meager utterance that held nary an emotion she wanted him to hear.

But he had understood. She could see it in the cool gray of his eyes that he knew she forgave him. For what, she wasn't as sure. Not returning her sentiments, perhaps, but Penelo didn't blame him for that. Love was not something that could be forced. It could be guided and molded with time, but never forced.

If anything, she forgave him for eighteen years of misleading her. She forgave him for all his talk of spending years and years of their life together, for scooping her into his arms when she was a crying mess, and for pulling her braids just to see the flustered expression on her face.

There was so much… _shit_ she had to analyze in the most platonic way possible, and if she didn't forgive him for all those things then and there, she knew what were once feelings of adoration would become simple bitterness.

So she did.

And in the midst of it, she had allowed herself to believe that time and loyalty would _make_ him ready. With all the foolishness of a love-struck _sod_, she had thrust out her heart on a silver platter to a boy who did not want such an exchange (as he had, after all, nothing to give her in return). It did not matter then. She would wait for him - wait for the very instant he would take it, place his own on the salver, and put the lid on. Instead, he took her offer and kept it in his pocket, where it would do nothing but pine and grow detached from all the years of callous handling.

Thinking back on it, Penelo realized that four years of naïve delusion wasn't so bad, considering how much worse it could have been. She could have gone the entirety of her life under the impression that, one day, he would stop loving the thrills of sky pirating and want to settle down and start a family. With her.

Ridiculous.

Almost as ridiculous, in fact, as her lack of awareness to her surroundings as she turned directly away from the counter and into a very warm, very solid body.

* * *

"Did you see Penelo run by earlier?"

"Yeah! It was kinda hard t'miss, actually."

"I wonder what she was up to."

"Liar. You're wondering what _Vaan_ is up to."

"No, Filo, seriously. She looked like she was in a hurry. Maybe she lost something?"

"She didn't seem t'be looking very hard."

"How would _you_ know? All you did was stare at her ass."

"I could say the same t'you regarding her _you-know-what_'s."

"Well, Filo is flat as a board, so when I see a nice pair of -"

"Kytes, Bucco - enough!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"All right, all right… Geez."

"… I'm not flat as a board…"

"D'you think we should have done something?"

"Huh?"

"T'help Penelo."

"Oh. Well. I dunno. Don't you think she'd ask for help if she needed it?"

"Hmm, somehow I don't think she would. She's not the type of girl to openly seek assistance, you know? Besides, I'm not even sure she noticed us when she sped through the square."

"Good point."

"Yeah."

"I hope she's not in trouble."

"She's a sky pirate - she's _always_ in trouble!"

"I wish Vaan would be more careful sometimes…"

"Whoa, that was amazing, Filo!"

"What?"

"Your Penelo impression."

"Do another!"

"You two are hopeless."

* * *

"I fear that I am interrupting something, but the question must be asked: What is milord achieving at his mirror's juxtaposition?"

"O-Oh! Gabranth. It is only you."

"Aye. There shall be another congregation in the consulate within the hour; I meant to retrieve you."

"I see. There have been so many meetings of late. I… have become weary of them. I beseech you - do not blame me for seeking refuge within my chambers. This is no act of cowardice."

"Not on my life."

"You have my sincerest gratitude."

"… If it is not my place to impart, I am repentant, but conversing with one's self is not regarded as customary habit for an emperor."

"Ah. You overheard my practice, I presume? Indeed. I shall cease such anomalous behavior at once."

"What of the assembly?"

"The - ? Oh. Yes. My arrival will be in short, thank you."

"Then I shall make haste and prompt the rest of the court for your advent."

"A fine proposal. You are dismissed."

"My lord."

The door shut.

"Ahem. Penelo, it has been some time, has it not? Your hair is looking rather… blonde."

* * *

Well, _that_ was uneventful.

Balthier withdrew himself from the balustrade with an aggravated sigh, smoothing his barely rumpled shirtsleeves with brusque tugs to his cuffs. What did a leading man have to do to find some entertainment in this day and age? Was it not bad enough more and more amateur, self-proclaimed 'sky pirates' took flight in Ivalice, ruining what had been _his _venture with their crude attempts at renown? Or that the Archadian forces were constantly hounding him in ways that were a far cry from professional nor - at the very least - _compelling_. No, it seemed the fates above took some sick liking to his implacable boredom.

There was a biting humor there, he found.

He didn't even _believe_ in fates. Frankly, he wanted nothing to do with them and the fatuous superstition accompanying. Perhaps _that_ was the farce meant to stave off his craving for engagement. How wonderfully mediocre.

A hand found his shoulder, languid but purposeful. Balthier tensed a marginal amount and turned to find Fran studying him with an unreadable expression, withdrawing her claw slowly, as if unsure of its place on him. He frowned. Was he really so off? For Fran, the person who knew him nearly as well as he did himself, to look at him with such uncertainty… It made him speculate.

_What had changed?_

"As I was saying before that blasted intermission," He started for the stairs, tone as mellifluous as ever. His mask was back in place - recoveries were so very easy after years of practice. "We should be off. I'm positive that a more worthwhile mark will make itself available to us soon. If not, well, then I've heard an exceptional rumor regarding a treasure deep within the heart of the Zertinan Caverns. Sounds promising."

"In theory, yes."

Fran's heels clicked pronouncedly behind him, as they neared the end of the staircase. Balthier threw her a puzzled glance. "In theory? Fran, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were losing your thirst for adventure - and loot."

She gave him a reticent smirk and shook her head, silver tresses cascading in messy perfection around her, standing out marvelously against her rich complexion. "That is not so." Her lilt conveyed slight dual-sided mirth and compunction as she calmly asserted herself. "Venturing into the dense Mist of Zertinan does not appeal to me. We are not certain if this treasure truly awaits us in the darkness. Perhaps all we will find are the fiends that lurk in the same cover of shadow, eager to feed."

Without her remaining on the last stair, Fran was still a head taller than him. She was the only woman (with the omission of his late mother, as he habitually steered thoughts away from the family he once had) who could make him feel small both physically and… otherwise.

"What is the allure of living if not that it can be snuffed out in the blink of an eye?" He asked her impassively. "Things of eternity are not nearly as sacred, don't you agree?"

_En garde, fates_.

"I do." Long, toned arms were pressed against the soft swell of her bosom. "But you do not. Such a claim would be false and you are all too conscious of this."

_Touché_.

With a quiet groan that Balthier figured did not come _close_ to fully communicating his disgruntled mood, he removed himself from his partner's company, and muttered something about having to pay his tab. Exchanging quips with Fran was hardly something he detested, but discussing his self and his personal views about things when she had the upper hand of being entirely sober was something he deemed unfair. Cruel, even.

What did Fran know, anyway?

A bitter smirk touched his lips.

What _didn't_ she know?

At eighteen, two years after escaping his fate as Judge and severing ties to his lunatic father, he had made her acquaintance at the _Whitecap_ in Balfonheim Port. Though his interests in her at the time were purely physical, Fran had humored him, letting him court her with his wicked smiles and expressive half-mast eyes. They had arranged to meet several times during their respective stays in port, and in the process, Fran had seen past the façade he put on. Viera were, in any case, rather perceptive creatures, but she had went beyond to see the well-guarded 'leading man' that hid behind the theatre curtains. It was apparent he was well-versed in the art of conversation, but quick to speak words of cutting disdain when the topic suited him (and that was every time politics, science, faith, and burlap was mentioned). Despite their limited status as strangers, Fran boldly addressed his bête noire with professionalism and - to his own surprise - Balthier had revealed some of the things he never dreamed of admitting to _himself_, just to appease the curiosity of a gorgeous woman.

Not much time past before they began to travel Ivalice together aboard the newly christened _Strahl _(before it had been nameless; beautifully customized, but nameless), as both lovers and partners. Each had experience with airships - though Fran had never elucidated as to where she picked up hers, merely offering that she had tried all kinds of new things once her business with Eruyt was finished - as well as fair ability in combat. Procuring treasures and marks had become simple to-do on a daily basis.

Their connection was like something out of a horribly written romance novel for silly teenage girls in the way it was sudden, cliché, and thick with trust and dependency; but neither begrudged their relationship. The years only strengthened the bond they shared, but eventually, they could only describe themselves as 'partners'. The love was there, yes, but the physicality of it was not. The initial lust that had drawn him to her had died, but left something greater in its wake: companionship.

Balthier sighed. It was impossible for him to remain cross with his trusty co-pilot, though he had the inclination that it was not her that had caused his temper, but the truth to her words that he did not want to face. Regardless, he still had a bill to pay and no amount of revelations would change that. The sky pirate ambled over to the counter - past the tables covered in bottles, glasses, and drunken faces - and noted the cloaked girl from before, fidgeting as she spoke with the tavern-master. He stopped a few feet away from her, allowing her her due privacy, but granting himself power to eavesdrop should she speak loud enough.

_The girl should consider herself lucky_, he thought, _she's gone and hooked an audience_.

"Give me a minute, wontcha? Why don't you have a drink while you wait? You were always too young before, but you deserve one now. On the house." The barkeep offered, staring at her with sorry eyes.

She must have been a Rabanastran, Balthier deduced, for the server to recognize her and allude to previous times. He found it strange: Why would she be donning a hood in a place she had familiars in?

"I'm fine. Thanks, though." The young woman declined.

His eyes narrowed, brow furrowing in confusion. He knew that voice, heard it somewhere. It was faint in his mind, but Balthier could swear on his life that her ringing soprano had met his ears once before. Perhaps a one-night stand? He _was _rather infamous for his philandering - and for good reason, too.

The next few exchanges Balthier could not make out. Mystery girl had decided to talk in hushed tones at once, which he found remotely infuriating.

It was luck that the pilot stopped focusing so intently on what might have been said earlier to catch the cynical smirk that played out on the bartender's aged face, as well as the word 'trysts' (which ultimately cemented his attention). Myrtle green eyes fell upon the smaller individual who went rigid, visibly tensing even under the cover of her cloak. He could see the tip of her nose, pert and very slightly upturned, as well as the peony shade marking her lips, twitching.

"_Thanks_._ Naldy_."

Balthier blinked in surprise - she had completely switched personas! Absurdly meek and humble one second, terse and unbelievably venomous the next. In his time, he had come to know very few women like this - and when they were, it was seldom for more than a week a month.

The so-called Naldy made a hilarious display of shutting up, appearing absolutely mortified even as the girl before him flashed him another (forced) smile as a supposed offer of good-will.

It was then he realized that, in his absorption, he had drawn closer to the action, no more than a petite step behind the dainty fuss-maker. The aroma of vanilla encountered his nostrils, as well as a hint of citrus, sparking muddled thoughts of pale golden hair and creamy skin within his psyche. Now he was _confident_ that this was no stranger. But who -

"Oh, sorry!"

Ha. Of_ course._

* * *

**A/N**: This chapter was primarily for establishing backstory. Sorry to any of you who are impatient like myself, but rest assured that the next update will really set things going. (:

I'm really happy that I've got some readers following the story. Hope you're enjoying reading it as much I do enjoy writing it! A special thanks to** twstdmind **and **bloodynose** for their kind feedback last chapter. Reviews keeps my morale for this fiction high.

FFXII does not belong to me, however, this fiction and the OC's (Raites, Viscovit, and Naldy) in it, do.

(_Fun Fact_: Filo, Kytes, and Bucco call the tavern-master 'Baldy Naldy' when he refuses to serve them. They get it from Vaan and Penelo, who went through the same treatment prior to Vayne's defeat.)


	4. Chapter 3: Solicitation

_Solicitation_

It was if he hadn't aged a day.

Words failed Penelo as she looked up at the man who had an uncanny talent of unjustly robbing her of her air supply, mouth slightly agape in her initial surprise of (quite literally) _bumping _into him. Dryness claimed the back of her throat. Why hadn't she thought of what to say on her mad dash over to the _Sandsea_? Surely she had _some _idea of how she would carry on the conversation. The temptation to groan was immense as she envisioned herself maladroitly confessing her identity as the false petitioner and the hidden ambitions behind her ruse. Oh, _yes_, that would go remarkably well.

_Hey Balthier. It's been a while! Four years, actually. Five? Oh, no, if you remember the whole Lemures experience - you might not, what with being a 'popular' sky pirate and all - I was there. I had the green Auracite - well, it was actually Vaan's, but you and Fran attacked us for it all the same. No hard feelings here though, even if I do have an ugly scar on my right thigh from where one of your lead shots nicked my skin. It's really attractive - maybe I'll show you sometime. Anyway, you know that bill you happened across by 'chance' at the Phon Coast about a week ago? Funny thing, actually - _I _had it posted. There's no such thing as a Yter-Rense, and as you may have guessed, the twenty-five-thousand Gil reward for killing it is also nonexistent. Sorry to lure you out to Rabanastre on false pretenses, but I need a ride to Archades. _

Gods, and she called _Vaan _short-sighted.

"I am well aware that Rabanastre is a city of casual behavior, my dear girl, but there is a fine line between casual and ill-mannered. Knowing you, I would expect more than senseless gawking to constitute a basic greeting, but then again, I _also_ know rather well that much can change in the span of a year - more-or-less _four_. And with Vaan, now that I come to think of it. I cannot say I am curious to see how he's turned out…"

She blinked, wrested from her bout of self-deprecation to see the faintly amused smirk playing out on Balthier's visage, mocking her. Her gaze drifted north to his nose, still as sharp and aristocratic as ever, and further to his eyes where her wandering halted. His irises were a handsome green, though barely luminescent in their hue and shaded by heavy-lids. In fact, it was more than possible one might confuse the very pigment with a deep brown at a cursory glance. Still, there was something Penelo found striking about them; something that grabbed her and pulled her in so deep in she felt as though she may drown.

How long were they so intensely charming, she wondered absently, and for how long didn't she notice? Considering the fact she hadn't been able to meet and hold the senior sky pirate's stare for the majority of their journey to 'liberate' Ivalice from the tyrant that was Vayne Solidor, probably not for a good time. Balthier was, in a word, intimidating. However, it was not her nerves that restricted her from their conversing, nor her looming sense of helplessness when she approached him, but his keen lack of interest that utterly showed in every motion and word made to her or about her. To him, she was nothing more than a liability at first, then a lovely cause of guilt and aches in various places, and finally, _Vaan's girl_. (There was also the chance he found her an admirable comrade in battle, but the group had always been split in such a way that they were rarely in the same team.) She didn't even have a name to him, just… Vaan's girl. Or when addressing the latter sky pirate in question, she was alluded to by the phrase: '_your girl'_.

It was nothing short of infuriating that he treat her as though she were less than he or anyone else in their party. While she was not a princess, dishonored captain, Viera, or sky pirate, Penelo was yet a valuable asset in the mix and longed to be recognized as such. Her magickal aptitude surpassed even Ashe's, whose bloodline - stemming from the consummate Dynast-King - was greatly endowed in such arts. Was that not impressive enough to merit use of her given name?

Prying herself from spiteful thoughts, she realized that her 'gawking' had resumed. Thankfully, her mouth was shut this time around, with no pathetic excuses for words scrambling for the launch pad of her tongue. Balthier appeared vaguely regaled by her phases of consciousness, his eyebrow playfully quirked in a way that made her cheeks burn and color.

"He's fine." She said at a length, suspecting the rosy tint of her face to be quite visible by now, even with the course fabric of her cloak veiling her head. Her desire to speak of her best friend was ironically paltry. Before, she could go on and on about him to anyone willing to listen. How he'd been feeling that morning, what he ate for breakfast and how it got all over his face while he devoured it overzealously, what dangers he'd faced lately and made her face as well… "Still alive."

"Vaan? Well, yes, he does have a faithful co-pilot to keep him in line, doesn't he?" His voice slowly lost form near the end, dwindling into something that was neither slur nor mumble. A sniff was all it took for Penelo to confirm he had been drinking. The scent of the alcohol from his lips was strong and piquant, triggering memories of people with sun-tanned hides who used the endearment '_bhadra_' within her mind.

"It's always been a firm belief of mine that every proper sky-pirate, if they are to be acknowledged as such, requires a partner - and a staunch one, at that. Just take a gander at Fran," Balthier swiveled a bit, having lost sight of the woman aforementioned, before setting his eyes upon the sole Viera within the tavern. "Most steadfast one of them all."

Tomaj was chatting her up with a large smile spread across his features, subtly fiddling with the tattered end of his orange scarf with the restless fingers of his left hand. His right was busy making intricate gesticulations in the air. Across from him, Fran nodded contently, velvety ears twitching somewhat at the tips.

Penelo bit back laughter. All these years and he _still_ fostered a crush on her? Silly. What would it take to convince him that women like Fran were simply out of his league?

"She seems like it. I mean, I've seen her with my own eyes, and… she's devoted, all right. I can't even imagine doing some of the things she does. I wonder if she ever gets scared." Somewhere in the middle of the sentence, she had taken her eyes off of the odd pair speaking near the entrance of the _Sandsea_ and returned her attention to Balthier, who seemed to briefly nod along in agreement. Penelo had a genuine respect for Fran. She was strong, independent, wise, and sensual beyond belief - everything the white mage wanted to be. After all, she had Tomaj wrapped around her finger and had done nothing to provoke such devotion besides be herself. And while Penelo was not quite envious of her acquisition of _Tomaj_'s affections, she wanted to be wanted like that: to have gifts and sweet words come her direction without so much as batting her eyelashes.

A girlish fantasy, yes, but if she were to be seen as a girl, why not indulge a small bit? At least until she find someone who would take her as a woman - as _Penelo_ - and care not as to what she lacked.

"I am not one to ask permission for things, so you would best take advantage of the situation and consent, but if I may give you my honest opinion?" He cast her a sideways glance; she nodded in response, taking fistfuls of her dress into her palms to brace herself. The homely candlelight from the surrounding tables cast shadows across his face, which grew very serious. "You're too mindful of negative consequences. All of the inhibitions you harbor adversely restrict what Vaan hopes to accomplish as a sky pirate. In spite of the fact I believe he needs someone to keep his head on straight - rather, just keep his head _on_ - I hardly think that your fretting does much good, apart from causing entertainment in the form of his exasperation."

Her fingernails were harshly prodding her skin through the layers of sheer chiffon in her grasp. A lump developed in her throat, immovable and adamant to stop what feeble excuse she could make in her own defense. If she _had_ an excuse. Truthfully, she had concurred. Everything he had said had been sitting in the recesses of her thoughts, weighing her down with insecurities, and to hear them now merely dismissed any inklings she had in doubt.

"Take me to Archades." It came out messily, garbled from the tightness in her vocal chords. She hadn't meant to blurt it out so early and without an appropriate segue, but as his words began to sink in, Penelo couldn't stand to be in Dalmasca anymore. Her voice wavered, and falteringly she took one of Balthier's cuffs in her hands. His arm was warm beneath the starched cotton, causing her absentminded surprise. "Please."

Her sudden outburst must have caught him completely off-guard, as Balthier turned to face her head-on, eyes noticeably wider and reflecting astonishment in their depths as they locked gazes. It seemed he was, for a change, unable to come up with some quick, clever retort - Penelo partially blamed the Bhujerban spirits for his delay in recovery, but continued to stare up at him with solemnity. A pregnant pause floated between them before he shook his head slightly, his expression melting into one of incredulity.

"Just because a man grants you his blunt view on a matter doesn't mean you should throw all of your convictions to the wind to - "

"It wasn't you." Penelo clarified, cutting his tirade short. He shot her a disapproving look and she released his wrist with a sigh. "I apologize for interrupting you, but I…" She gnashed her teeth together in frustration; the truth would not be coaxed out easily. Why did things have to be so much harder than they needed to be? A huff escaped her mouth in the stead of words. New tactic. "You came to the _Sandsea_ to meet with a petitioner."

"Yes, but how - " His eyes widened minutely before narrowing in definitive comprehension. He smirked twistedly, giving himself an air of danger that made Penelo take an instinctive step back, but something in his scrutiny was unreadable and almost…_ impressed_. "When were you and your boy docked in the Phon Coast?"

"We weren't." She started, carefully. "But a good friend of mine was. It was hard to track you two down - the truth might hurt, but you're not as popular as you think. I'd say only one in every ten people I asked knew your name, even fewer what you looked like." She examined her hands, finding abrupt intrigue in the creases and calluses in her skin. "When I heard that you were headed to the coast in order to investigate the famed Zutta Grotto, I realized that was my chance. I had my contact at the Phon Coast put up the bill and notify most of the seasoned hunters out there that the mark was a sham. Word spread, but didn't reach you."

"What made you so sure we would take the deal?" He inquired, eyebrow lifted. Most of the hostility he construed moments ago had vanished by now, leaving a very curious sky pirate.

"Because anyone who's lived at the Phon Coast will tell you there's nothing but dissatisfaction and stagnant water in the Zutta Grotto." She gave a gentle rise and fall of the shoulders. "The treasure there's been gone for a while now, but people who visit are encouraged to make up rumors that it's still there when they return to their respective cities to help tourism."

"Hm, well, that still doesn't shed light on how you were damn positive we would bite." Balthier's arms folded across his chest, a long finger tapped his bicep impatiently. "I'd feel a fool if it were a simple game of _chance_ that I lost."

Penelo grinned, having secretly hoped he'd ask something to that effect. If there was one thing she was confident of, it was the reasoning behind her certainty he'd take the bait. "You're a sky pirate. You can't bear it when your venture turns up fruitless, so you'll exploit the next opportunity available to you to compensate - especially when the reward to be reaped is twenty-five-thousand Gil. Most bills don't list the pay-out, so you can never be sure if it's worth the risk, but I made sure to create an eye-catching petition."

To her surprise, Balthier released a chuckle and shook his head. His laughter was rare, and as she lingered on it, Penelo realized it might have been the first time she had ever witnessed the commodity. The warmth in its tone, how mellow and even it was in deliverance, coming straight from his gut - it was an invigorating experience that she wished she could share. In any case, it was… _refreshing_ to see he knew emotions beside sardonicism, gravity, and condescension.

"I suppose I gave you less credit than I ought have." He said after the laughter had died out; Penelo missed the mirthful sound immediately.

Reluctantly, she knew she had to revive the prior topic of Archades. The likelihood he did not care for the _idea_ of playing chauffeur was great, but she had come so far - Penelo couldn't give up now.

"Balthier," His name felt so misplaced on her tongue. She wondered if it was the same for him, and _Vaan's girl _was merely a cover up. "About Archades…"

He nodded and took the reigns of the conversation when she trailed off. "Yes, I am interested as to why you need to use the _Strahl_ as your mode of transportation to the Imperial City when already you've a fine one of your own; the name escapes me, I'm afraid."

"The _Nova_."

"Of course."

If she were to lie, it would begin a snowball effect of deceit. Penelo's faith in the honesty of people was optimistic, and to a point, naïve. By lying now, she would be destroying a principal that had been part of the foundation of her upbringing. Her mother and father would be ashamed.

"Vaan has a mark to hunt, and you know how headstrong he can be when it comes to the things he wants to do. It doesn't matter what I say once he's set his mind on something." No lies so far - good, good. "He needs the airship more than I do."

"And the Aerodrome? I trust it's still by the Westgate of Rabanastre?"

"It is, but…" She hesitated, clamping down on her bottom lip tenderly with her teeth. "I don't have the money for it." Not completely true, but not false. She didn't have enough Gil to purchase a ticket to Archades, rent a room to stay in for the night, _and _buy the finishing touch to Larsa's birthday present. Inflation of airship tickets in Dalmasca had been near _villainous_ in the past two years. A one-way transfer was an estimated twelve-hundred Gil - definitely out of her price range.

Balthier looked conflicted for a moment, then moved to lean against the back wall, eyebrows set. "What business have you in Archades?" His eyes met hers with such power that she froze, the bumps on her arms rising intuitively. He knew; it was obvious he merely wanted to hear it come from Penelo's own mouth.

The blonde never did understand why Balthier was so opposed to Larsa. Something about the boy ten years his junior appeared to set him off, like a cannon short of a fuse, and Penelo found it almost reprehensible. In her own opinion, Larsa was everything pure in the Hume race - to hate him would be the same as despising the values worth looking for in people.

"Lord Larsa - "

"_Lord Larsa_. Would he really have you using such formalities?" Balthier snorted, eyes narrowing at the dully polished wooden floor of the pub. Penelo recoiled slightly, hearing the fiery disgust in his voice. "Spare me the explanation, I realize I have not the stomach for it - too much Madhu, you see. Must have been nearly a cask." He removed himself from the wall, shifting so that he may face the dancer, hands resting at his hips, thumbs hooked under intersecting dual-belts. The sky pirate continued. "I am kept well-informed, girl, I know it is the young emperor's birthday in… hmm, less than two days now? No doubt you are intending to pay _His Royal Majesty_ a visit."

She nodded deliberately, on edge from his caustic speech.

Balthier studied her for a moment, face devoid of every discernible emotion possible. The lighting of the cozy tavern did not help and, if anything, aided his stoicism with dramatic shades and tint. Under his inexplicable analysis, Penelo felt oddly weak, as if the next words he came to utter could harm her as well as his stiff hand across her cheek.

The sensation rooted all the way back to when she first laid eyes on he, Fran, and Ashe - with the terrible addition of _Vaan_ - being escorted out of the Garamsythe Waterway in manacles of iron. The feeling of dread overtook her body, the fright of losing Vaan willing her to push past the Imperials blocking her way. She had cried for them to leave her poor friend alone, seeing the trace amount of blood fly from his bruised skin as one of his captors struck him with his gauntlet. But Balthier stepped in to block her path, distracting her with a smooth request and a soft linen handkerchief. She recalled feeling so small then, and so fragile. Blinking back tears, she had realized that the only thing she _could _do was take the cloth, pray to the gods she did not need to use it, and wait for the moment this charming stranger returned Vaan to her, as he said he would.

Eventually Balthier's expression became something less daunting; his mouth curled tightly, smugly, and his eyes flickered with some knowledge that Penelo couldn't fathom.

"Fran," He called loudly from across the pub, a few confused patrons looking around at the clamor.

The Viera placed a lissome hand on Tomaj's shoulder to silence him; they both followed the sound back to Balthier. His partner raised a brow and cocked her head, giving him the go-ahead to say whatever he would.

His grin widened roguishly. "It seems we've a stately change in our itinerary."

* * *

**A/N**: This chapter and chapter four were actually supposed to be one and the same, but I felt like it dragged on, so I split them. So, that means chapter four will definitely be up next weekend, so expect an update from me.

Hope you weren't disappointed by lack of switches in third-person limited POV; I got the feeling Balthier got enough of himself out there last chapter _and_ I don't want to reveal too much on his part. As for Larsa, well, he's a busy guy. (:

(Speaking of Larsa, he makes his wonderful debut next installation. I'm excited.)

Thank you for reading, and a special thanks to **Marta **and **twstdmind **for reviewing last chapter!


	5. Chapter 4: Confliction

_Confliction_

The trip to Archades was longer and more tiresome than Penelo had expected.

A little more than two hours ago, she had said her _goodbye_'s and _thank you_'s to Fran and Balthier. Their flight together had been somewhat tense with silence, but regardless, they had accepted her plea and got her where she needed to go - for that, she was grateful. She left the Aerodrome and stepped foot on the Archadian street with her luggage in tow. It felt like she had been waiting for ages to get here, to be free of the _Nova_, and to risk a trial by fire of how to be independent. The patronizing stares of haughty Archadian gentry didn't so much as register in her thoughts.

Presently, she was happily sprawled out against the length of her inn bed, shoes kicked off and toes wiggling free. Penelo placed her face into the blankets, nestling it partially under the cover of her pillow. The sheets smelled clean and lightly of soap. The comforter under her was filled with chickatrice down, giving way with every movement she made. A contented sigh escaped her mouth.

So she splurged a little to spend one night in the city of Archades in luxury. What Balthier didn't know, didn't hurt him. Besides, it wasn't like he could simply call her out on her lie and whisk her away back to Rabanastre because she really _did_ have the means to pay for an airship ticket.

It was a shame; Balthier didn't so much as look at her once through the flight. True, he had been cross that he had to take the co-pilot's seat (due to his intoxication), but he could have at least said something. Even Fran had been kind enough to ask about Vaan and the_ Nova_. It had been four years - he acknowledged the fact himself while they were in the _Sandsea_. Penelo wanted to know how he and Fran had been, where they had been, what they had been up to. Being as enigmatic as they were, no one ever could come close to guessing what they were up to.

Sky pirating, obviously.

… Or not. Who knew with someone as unpredictable as Balthier in charge? One moment he was an egotistical fop, openly indulging his best interests, and the next he's boldly putting his life on the line to save countless Rabanastran souls from the fall of the sky fortress, _Bahamut_. He and Fran had frightened their little group with that stunt - especially Ashe, who had never so forward with her feelings, had been brought to the verge of tears over their well-being.

Learning that they were both safe and back to what they loved best had been a heady moment. Penelo literally jumped for joy when she read their note, landing straight on her best friend's back as she squealed with delight, much to his (playful) dismay.

She missed those times.

Her thoughts then went to Vaan. Was he wondering where she was? Was he worried? It was already nighttime - if not the early hours of the morning - in Rabanastre. Was he sleeping all right? Guilt took hold of her gut for wishing that he miss her, for wanting him to know the anxiety and worry she went through daily. A small frown carved its way onto the porcelain of her skin. Maybe he didn't care; maybe her absence wasn't as big a deal to him as it was to herself.

With a groan, she pulled a pillow over her face and let out a muffled scream.

When her lungs eventually gave out and her throat turned raw with exertion, she rolled onto her stomach and closed her eyes. The darkness was relaxing, as were the fineries about her. Every nerve in her body unwillingly began to ease with her mind, unaccustomed to the feeling of calm. She couldn't be such a wreck when she made her way over to the Royal Palace of Archades tomorrow, especially when there was the occasion for which she was arriving to consider. How rude would it be for her to ruin Larsa's moment with her self-pity and instability? Penelo shook her head, rubbing her nose further into the pleasant smelling bed sheets.

No. She would not allow herself to do that - for both their sakes.

* * *

Though she wasn't sure exactly when she had drifted off into the serene repose of sleep during the previous night, Penelo groggily came to that morning to the brisk knocks at her room's door. The resistance met while raising her head from her pillow was great, and her eyes couldn't seem to focus as they struggled to stay open. Nevertheless, she forced herself into a sitting position on the mattress, the surface dipping and yielding with her weight, absently smoothing the wrinkles of her dress with indolent hands as it pooled around her thighs.

"Mm… Yes?" She asked in response to the raps against her door, voice fading into a yawn. It was a delicious yawn at that - one that reached into every bit of her form and filled her with a fuzzy, balmy feeling so pleasant that words could not begin to describe it. She reached her arms out in front of her, stretching, and followed suit with her legs. With the way her body was tingling all over, she couldn't help but smile; it had been a long time since she slept that well.

"Miss Penelo, occupant of Room 108, you left a note at the concierge desk asking that you be awakened at eight o'clock on the mark." Came the prim female voice, heavy with the typical Archadian accent, stifled by the door between them. "I am carrying out your request, as per my instruction."

"Oh, right… That." Penelo busily rubbed the sleep from her eyes and yawned once more. There was a moment of quiet in which the blonde expected her brain to start functioning properly. Nothing worth saying came to mind.

"Are you yet in need of my assistance?" The employee queried, a tinge of annoyance in her words.

"Hmm? Oh, no, I'm fine, thank you." Penelo searched for something to say, something with class. "You are… dismissed."

"Madam."

A few footsteps signaled the attendant's leave, and not long after, the dancer swung her legs limply over the side of her bed and rose to her feet. This was the time for preparation; everything she would do to make herself presentable at the palace - rather, _in the company of Larsa _- would have to be taken care of now. Her mental schedule dictated she would leave the inn in two hours at the most, then she traverse the districts until she reached _Charlotte's Magickery_, where the final addition to her gift would be waiting for her. If all went well, she would be at the Royal Palace of Archades before noon.

Penelo padded over to the incredible bathroom of her suite, examining the lavish cream-colored marble on the floor and walls with awe. It was cool to the touch, smooth and immaculate as she ran her fingertips over the surface. Marble had such an uncanny way to make things look pristine and opulent - no wonder it was a staple in Archades.

Without much ado, she stripped out of her dress and undergarments and let them pile on the floor. It took her a moment of searching, but Penelo found the handle to the water and turned it from the neutral 'OFF' position to the left, where a spectrum of darkening reds signified the temperature. The golden knob cut the scale in the middle, pointing to a lovely shade of amaranth, cuing the water to rush out of the bath spout. Slowly but surely, the tub filled with water as the room did with white steam. Once the basin was near its limit, Penelo returned the handle to its vertical posture, stopping the flow. She plunged a finger into the liquid. Deeming it a suitable heat, she climbed in, sighing blissfully as the bath water engulfed her frame, seeping into her pores and relaxing her completely.

A girl could get used to this.

* * *

"Do pardon my interruption, but might I have a word, Judge Viscovit?"

"You may have as many as you like, milord."

"Have we any news of our guest's arrival?"

"And which guest do you speak of? There are many figures of prominence we have bade come for your ball tomorrow night. Few of which make their appearance this evening to speak with you privately; the majority merely come for the celebration. As of late, we have no - "

"Forgive me; I was too vague in my inquiry. I ask of Penelo, the guest who shall be rooming in the north-east wing."

"Ah. The room which you have ordained to be specially kept for the last week?"

"The very same."

"My apologies, milord. No news of a flaxen-haired visitor from Dalmasca has passed between the staff - or Judges, for that matter. Furthermore, no airship bearing the name the _Nova _has been witnessed in the Aerodrome within the past two days."

"I… Very well. Your time does not go unappreciated, Madam Judge."

"To serve you is an honor that needs not such kind sentiments. But… From what I have been told, this will be the seventh time you have asked of her this hour. I fear that you worry overmuch, Lord Larsa. It is with certainty that I say that upon her sighting, you will be the first to be notified."

"For the good of my thoughts, let us simply hope that notification does come."

* * *

"..."

"Has a Coeurl your tongue?"

"Should I be offended that you take my silence as something so rare? Here I thought it was normal practice for a man to bury himself in his reveries every now and again."

"Perhaps."

"..."

"Not an utterance did you make amidst our flight to Archades, either."

"Drunken men speak infinite loads of nothing. I just so happen to remind myself of that fact while I am impaired. Of course, Fran, you are not one to be pointing fingers - after all, you barely said much more than I."

"Be that as it may, it was not _I_ whom that girl wished to speak with."

"And I suppose you're going to tell me she expected me to say something to her?"

"Not quite. From her I felt a strong sense of reservation. She had many things on her mind, yet none she could will herself to speak."

"Hmph. This hardly seems like something to linger on. So she is meek - it is nothing I did not already know."

"You were angry, and it was from your spite that the hush fell."

"I was annoyed. You know as well as do that I bloody hate navigating."

"It is Archades and everything that befell you while trapped there that you loathe. And though you will not bring yourself to admit it, you do not want - "

"That is _enough_. I have heard quite my fill,_ thank you_."

"..."

"You'll have to pardon my shouting, but I do not see what any of this has to do with anything, Fran. Also, you have drifted us eastward; we are headed west."

"It seems I have."

"..."

"It was not my pla -"

"You were ri -"

"I know."

* * *

"I will say it once more, woman, seeing as you are obviously hard of hearing: _no civilian entry on the count of preparation for Emperor Larsa's birthday festivities_. Even if I wanted to let you in - which is _far_ from the truth - you are without the proper papers stating you have an audience with our lord."

Penelo felt every fiber of her being grow taut with frustration, undoing all the magic of spending a night in a fancy Archadian suite and taking a long, hot bath within its sumptuous washroom. Her eyes narrowed into slits at the Imperial Guard before her. For fifteen minutes had they stood in front of the castle threshold, arguing. And for fifteen minutes, all he did was talk down to her with the usual Archadian upper-crust sneer, denying her passage into the palace, deaf to her desperate explanations.

"You don't understand!" She huffed, hands finding their place on the curve of her hips (somewhat awkwardly at that, seeing as she had a travel bag under each arm). Gods, how she wanted to beat some sense into this man - just like in the good old days, when she could look at Imperials like oppressive 'bucket heads' made for antagonizing and not anything _resembling_ people. "Larsa had me personally invited. Please, just tell him Pe - "

"That's _Lord _Larsa or _Emperor_ Larsa to you." The suited man corrected her, then mumbled something akin to "Disgusting _commoners_. The filth cannot comprehend the idea of respect for their superiors."

'Insulted' was too weak a word to apply to Penelo as her cheeks burned with indignation, her body trembling as her self-control battled to keep herself from lunging at the Imperial. Years upon years in which she had been called various slurs had she endured, but never did one fail to pierce her walls - even if the damage dealt _was_ minimal. This man was not only ruining what she had worked so _damn_ hard for by refusing to let her in, but he had the audacity to demean her whilst doing so.

She had reached her boiling point. Something had to be done. And though she had not a weapon on her, she was still very able to cast magick. Honestly, Penelo wanted the man dead right then and there - or, at the very least, she wanted to see him writhing around in pain on the stone pavement. However, that would cause much attention, and even though she couldn't see them, she knew there were more guards around, ready to sound the alarm and attack at the smallest indication of trouble.

She had to be smart about this.

Penelo glanced down at her right hand - more specifically, at the amethyst ring on her index finger. Vaan had purchased the trinket for her while they were in Bhujerba last year, after hunting down a Sadistic Mantis in the Lhusu Mines for a vengeful woman whose son had been discovered torn to shreds and partially eaten by the beast.

They had found the creature deep within the mine, grotesquely cannibalizing many of the lesser mantis that scurried around in a tizzy, ripping them apart like dinner bread and forcing their maimed carcasses to its dripping mandibles until there were naught left. Penelo had almost been sick at the image, but the job they were held to had her sucking it back and charging headfirst after her best friend. The fighting was done with the utmost care, but Vaan still had managed to get speared through the shoulder by one the insect's many legs, and was flung against the wall of the dig-site. He hit the stone with a sickening_ crunch_, then fell to the ground, motionless.

Penelo was faced with a difficult decision then. One of her legs had been severely twisted and impeded her movement, and her left hand had been crushed by rocks that fell from the ceiling, rendering her heavy ivory pole useless. She could heal herself now, while the Mantis was leaving her to 'investigate' Vaan's body or she could resuscitate him to be sure of his safety. Her decision didn't take more than a second to make, and she began reciting the words to Arise as quickly as she could without tongue-tying herself. As the Sadistic Mantis grew nearer, Penelo finished the incantation, feeling weaker yet as her Mist reserve was drained.

Vaan had been roused in just time, dodging suddenly as the behemoth made to strike the bedrock where he had just lain. The dancer smiled with relief at her pilot, who had returned the gesture for a brief moment before shouting, _"Penelo! Look out!" _

From then on, the blonde had no recollection of that mark. When she came to, the Mantis had been slain, sliced into a macabre array of pieces, and was currently bleeding out on the mine floor. Penelo had found herself propped up against the wall of the cave, Vaan kneeling beside her, looking somewhat thankful as her eyes fluttered open.

'_Hey, you're awake.' _

'_Yeah… Oh, my head… What happened, Vaan?'_

'_That jerk knocked you out. Cheap shot, if you ask me.'_

'_No, I mean, the Mantis… it's all… Gross. And… cut up.'_

He smiled, chagrined. '_I guess my temper kept at it even after I killed the thing.' _Vaan had rose to his feet and offered his friend his hand. '_Can you stand?'_

They had made their back through the mine - with Vaan looking over his shoulder every few seconds to see if Penelo wasn't too far behind - and met the sunlight of the outside world graciously. As they walked back to the Aerodrome (having collected a hefty reward from the petitioner), Vaan had stopped by one of the street vendors to examine the bazaar goods.

'_Vaan, let's go already. I promised Filo I'd teach her how to use long-bows today and I don't want to disappoint her.' _

'_Yeah, yeah, just hold on a sec. It won't take long, I promise.' _

Penelo rolled her eyes as her friend talked with the merchant, pointing at one of the items enthusiastically. _Really_, he could be so incorrigible sometimes.

'_Are you done yet?'_

There had been an exchange of Gil - quite a bit, actually - and Vaan turned to her with that smile of his that made her breath catch in her throat.

'_Here.'_

She looked at the small amethyst ring that had been thrust into her hands with disbelief, rolling the thin, silver band in her fingers. Was he…?

'_What _is_ this, Vaan?'_

'_You got hurt on that hunt because you had to save my sorry butt.' _He had rubbed the back of his neck, as he usually did when he was ashamed or weary, the smile gone from his face.

_'You coulda healed yourself, but… Anyway, you won't have to choose between two spells anymore, 'cause this ring is infused with Doublecast magick. It cost most of our reward money, so you better use it, okay?' _

His beam was back up; Penelo had laughed at his infidelity between emotions.

'_Definitely.'_

She couldn't bring herself to remove the accessory from finger since the moment he eagerly handed it to her, so it remained. And now Penelo was glad she hadn't taken it off, for it would be her key into getting into the palace. She looked back up at the Imperial; she could feel him sneering at her during the few seconds of silence between them.

"Why don't you run along back to Old Archades? Or whatever slum you hail from, seeing as you are obviously _Dalmascan_ rubbish."

"Yes. I'm not getting anywhere here, so I might as not waste my time anymore, right?" She forced a tight-lipped smile, wanting evermore to land her fist in his face. Her voice was saccharinely sweet.

"Precisely. It seems you are not as dull as I thought you were."

Penelo turned her back on him and took slow steps away from him before she could snap and give into her violent fantasies. Quietly, she began murmuring the incantation for Immobilize, the gentle breeze of her Mist energy caressing her skin.

"Eh? What was that?"

_Ignore him. Ignore him. _She thought, putting all of her concentration on completing the spell. Once the last word had left her lips, Penelo gasped, feeling the rough, sharp grasp of a metal-covered hand around her shoulder. The Imperial tugged at her with such force that she spun to face him, eyes wide with surprise - and though she wouldn't admit it, terror.

He released her shoulder once she was directly in front of him. "What did you say, _girl_?"

"Sleep."

The effect was instantaneous. Immobilize had taken precedence, freezing him in the stiff, upright stance he assumed. But there was not a second for him to make a sound as Sleep followed, putting him into a noiseless rest. Penelo smirked at her handiwork: a guard sleeping _and _standing around on the job. The best part was that no one would be able to tell due to the helmet he and the rest of them wore, covering his dozing face.

Taking a quick scan of the perimeter, the mage searched for any signs of men covered in shiny, clinking armor. There were none, oddly enough, and with a shrug, Penelo looked back to her frozen acquaintance. It was her second time seeing what she had accomplished, but she did not feel the same. There was no pride, but instead, a pang of remorse. If he hadn't been so difficult, she wouldn't have had to do this.

_It's his own fault_, she told herself, _I had no choice_. _Besides, it's not like he's hurt, right?_ Justification for her actions, however, didn't ease the sensation rising in her chest. She hurriedly grabbed the ring of keys from his belt and ran up to the towering wrought-iron barricade anteceding the castle door. Fumbling with the multitude of keys, Penelo swore under her breath.

"Which one, which one…?" She deigned to try them all. The first one had an end shaped liked a spade. Interesting enough. She jammed the head into the lock, jostling it to the left, and when that didn't work, to the right. No good. The next was of a diamond shape, and after that, a club design. She did the same with both… and received the same futile results.

_Gods_, it was as if the fates didn't _want_ her to see Larsa! If anything, they wanted her to be miserable and alone, probably keeping miniature pet cockatrices or something as her only company.

"This is taking forever." She mumbled, looking for the next key. There wasn't a deficiency in selection, but for some reason, Penelo felt as though she needed to use a discriminating eye. Then again, she had grown up a picky girl - a definite 'no-no' for one left orphaned and impoverished in a devastated Rabanastre. In time she learned to be thankful for what she had (and later, how to give what little she _did _possess to those who needed it more), but there was always that hint of fussiness in the back of her mind.

A minute passed. Within that period of time, she had used flower, heart, square, circle, oval, star, chocobo head, and crown-shaped keys. The latter brought her the most frustration - it had looked so promising with its bright gilt and complex motif, but didn't even reach through the padlock. Oh well. There was no use lingering on it. Re-examining the ring in her hands, Penelo found there was only a single key left that she had not yet tried. It was a plain bronze fashion, lack-luster and somewhat grimy - it reminded her of something one would use in a dungeon.

But, this had to be it. Taking a deep breath to calm the butterflies tickling her stomach, Penelo fit the key into the padlock. The metal shaft slid into the keyhole without struggle. So far, so good. Slowly she turned the key, silently exalting as she heard the tell-tale _click _of the lock releasing. With deft hands, she removed the key, slipped the entire ring of them within one of her bags, and pushed the metal barricade ajar. There was an intense rush of something exhilarating running through her veins as she smoothy maneuvered between the small opening she made for herself. Was it triumph? Perhaps the thrill of doing something underhanded for once? Whatever it was, Penelo liked it - and yet, did not want to.

It was just a few more steps to the door that led into the palace. The door itself was enormous, at least ten feet high and six across, made out of a sturdy looking wood with a russet color. Someone had recently polished it - _all of it _- by the quality of the finish. Impeccable. Penelo stood there in awe for a moment, tentatively placing her hand against the surface before making any effort to open the door.

She had done it. The wood beneath her palm was proof that she was able to do something for herself for once - that she was strong enough to pull free of the bindings she had come to believe were inescapable.

What was in store for her beyond this threshold, she wasn't sure of. Larsa, yes, but what made this place so different from the _Nova_? It seemed a cage in itself, just superbly furnished and vast in size. For Larsa, leaving on a whim was severely out of the question, held by the responsibilities bestowed upon him by royal birth. From what Penelo read in his letters, his days were always planned, filled with long meetings to 'manage' the Empire and excessive paperwork.

Told how to dress, where to go, what to say… Such a life seemed unbearable, and yet Larsa took everything in stride, making his balancing act look like a cakewalk. It could have been accredited to the way he was raised, schooled in all of these arts, but Penelo believed it was also because he was a remarkable boy.

What had she solved by coming here? She had made a point to herself, that much was clear, but it was almost as if she stepped out of a cell and walked into another that did not quite belong to her. A foolish action if there ever was one. The thought of turning back and returning to the Aerodrome on the off-chance the _Strahl_ was still docked there crossed her mind abruptly, but Penelo shook her head free of such a temptation.

She couldn't run.

Sky pirates ran. They flew.

And Penelo was no sky pirate. She had learned that lesson all too well.

She told Larsa she would visit, not to mention she promised him a gift. There would never be a letter she sent or received between them where she wouldn't feel the guilt - the _shame _- of turning her back on him because _she _lost sight of what she wanted.

Penelo took a steadying breath and pressed her weight on the right door with her shoulder, gradually easing that side open. She could see a sliver of the castle floor (well-shined marble, of course) through the opening. Her heart took refuge in her throat, but she persisted.

It was with a looming sense of nervousness that she padded into the Royal Palace of Archades, greeted by the flawless interior. Magnificent pillars, intricate friezes, art that was undoubtedly worth more money than she would ever see in her lifetime - Penelo was, again, awestruck as she looked around, approaching the center of the area.

And then she was just normal struck. Pain flared in her arm, lighting her nerves all aflame. A cry left her mouth, strangled slightly by the tightness in her throat, but rich with hurt and shock nonetheless. She looked down to see where a bolt had grazed the skin of her bicep. Blood trickled down her arm from the wound, warm and slick in its travel. Penelo turned to the side of the room where the shot had come from. A number of Imperials, clad in their silver fittings, stood at the mouth of a corridor with their weapons at the ready. The first one wielded a bow-gun in his gauntlets.

"Do not move, or we will issue another shot." He warned her, advancing warily.

In that moment, Penelo decided running was a liberty not limited to sky pirates. Running was something she grew up doing and _hell_ if she abstained now, when she truly needed to. She took off with great speed toward a staircase north of her position. Behind her, the dancer heard shouts of "After her!" and "Do not let her escape!" followed by the harsh chorus of metal against metal. Another bolt missed her as she neared a platform on the staircase where it forked, zooming past her head and brushing a few of the curls she toiled to create that morning. She gulped.

_A simple visit between friends gone wrong. What a way to go. _Penelo thought, frazzled, as she reached the platform. More stairs awaited her at either side. _Which way? Which way? _She hung a hasty right, realizing she was throwing away valuable time thinking as the sound of Imperials in pursuit grew louder in her burning ears.

It wasn't running; it was_ fleeing_.

* * *

The chase continued, despite her not knowing where she was headed, but Penelo found solace in the fact she was absurdly more fast than the soldiers on her tail. She had lost a handful of them when she made a sharp turn into a hallway a few rooms after the stairs ended - and even more along the way. It was a wide passage in which she found herself in now. There were a number of doors on either side, with paintings of scenic places in Ivalice on the walls and demure potted flowers in each of the four corners.

Penelo jogged to the end of the hall where there was a single white door - in contrast to the rest, which were all polished oak. On it, the Solidor House crest was imprinted, gold upon blue enamel. She traced a finger over the curves of the symbol, frowning lightly. This could not be the master bedroom, wherein the Emperor would rest; it was far too obscure (and quaint) a place for that. And yet, here was the sign of Larsa's nobility, plain to see for any passerby.

"She went in here!"

The Rabanastran whipped around at the outburst, back pressed flat on the door, heart thumping wildly against her ribcage. No one had entered the hallway, but from the sound of it, they weren't too far off. Damn. They caught up with her faster than she had expected. Penelo turned, staring down the doorknob with the most threatening look she could muster.

"You better not lead me into a trap." She muttered darkly, then took the handle within her grasp and eased the door only as open as it needed to be for her to slide in. Penelo shut the door quietly behind her and found the overall feel of the new room… cozy. There was a large window at the left side of the room where a generous amount of sunlight poured in, covering every inch of the moderately sized area in luminescent warmth. Before her, two chairs upholstered in red velvet were positioned in front of a beautiful mahogany escritoire.

Her eyes widened as they fell upon a figure, sitting at the desk, busily writing something or another on long sheet of parchment. The faint sound of his fountain pen scratching paper was the only disturbance to the quiet. Had he not noticed her? Or was he simply not choosing to acknowledge her presence? Either way, the man seemed engrossed in his devices and not a bit interested in his visitor.

His posture was not slouching (as hers would be if she were so keenly at work), but erect and forward as if he had a rod at his back. Ebony bangs fell across his forehead, dark and smooth against his fair complexion. The rest of his hair was long, ending neatly before touching his not-too-broad shoulders. It curled a trace amount at the ends.

But it was by his gaze that Penelo felt oddly captivated by, though it was not remotely directed at her - or anywhere near her, for that matter. She almost wished he _would_ notice her, just so that she may get a closer look at his irises. They were an icy blue, yet held none of the piercing cold so typical of the color. If anything, they were gentle and tender as they followed his script dutifully, veiled by lashes as black as the hair on his head.

He was dressed as nobililty would be with a sapphire padded gilet to cover his white silk dress shirt, exquisitely embellished with metallic threads of gold and silver which weaved to make swirling and undulating patterns on the fabric. Despite being pinned to the table, his sleeves were billowy and full, tapering from the bottom up. They were pinched in uneven increments along his arms with thin bands of metallic lace, adding _more_ volume and intrigue to his ensemble.

And even with had pen in hand, the man wore white gloves - as if _daring _his ink to sully them.

"I was under the impression that my order was rather perspicuous." Said the Archadian gentry at a length, not bothering to cease his labor. His voice had a peculiar quality, like smoke over gravel, but was nonetheless agreeable - if not _pleasant_ - to Penelo's ears.

She blinked at the sound and furrowed her brow lightly, the gears of her mind turning to put two and two together.

_It couldn't be. _

"Alas, perhaps it was only so overt in my own mind." He sighed listlessly. Penelo watched him intently, unknowingly holding her breath as the young man set his pen on the desktop and gave a quick read-through of his work. An aesthetically high cheek-bone rested against the knuckles of one hand as the other held his paper below his visage. "The convocation is not for another two hours yet, and it is within that time - which is the present, you see - that I would like…"

He trailed off. Their gazes locked once he had finished looking over the paper to see the face of the person who had disobeyed his explicit direction. The parchment he had been so engrossed in moments ago slipped from his fingers, fluttering to the tastefully ornate carpet undetected. Penelo felt all of the air in her lungs rush out in a quiet '_haa_' at once. Her heart, meanwhile, stopped its erratic palpitations altogether as she laid eyes on the new and familiar face staring back at her in muted surprise and wonder.

"Penelo." Her name was but a whisper on his lips.

"It's been a while, Larsa."

* * *

**A/N**: Long chapter, ahoy. I had a lot issues with this one, but I hammered most of them out. Yippee.

Only a little bit of Larsa, I know! But he's going to be the main focus of most of chapter five - hopefully this will whet your appetites until then.

In my opinion, there was a little too much Vaan. I like my doses of him in _tiny_ amounts, but I also felt that it was important to emphasize the way he and Penelo rely on each other and how she had read into his protective attitude and care as something more. It really is hard for Penelo to rid herself of all of this disillusionment - if you haven't noticed by chapter one. Derp. Is it too dramatic?

Also, no reviews last week. Understandable, considering FFXII isn't the most popular installment of Final Fantasy _and _that slash is typically favored amongst fanfiction. A week isn't a long time either, _especially _when it's the holiday season, so I keep that in mind, too. But it's still a little disappointing that there are no reviews when I can see people adding this story to their favorites/alerts every chapter. Ah, well. It happens.

Anyway, I'll be changing my update schedule: every other weekend, I'll add a new chapter.

Merry Christmas/whatever you celebrate or choose not to!

- Nina.


	6. Chapter 6: Collocation

_Collocation_

The whole staff would be fired.

And beheaded. Also, fired. Did he mention that already? If not, he would infinitely more time to stress the fact they were definitely out of the castle for the remainder of their damned lives - and all because they could not do a simple little thing like _follow orders_.

Larsa had been very explicit and more than thorough in his debriefing. With great care he had told them he anticipated the arrival of a special guest - one that had helped end the war and accompanied him on his travels, no less. He had given a name, description (blonde, blue-eyed, approximately 5'4", Rabanastran, twenty-two years of age, indelibly well-proportioned - well, perhaps that last item had not left his lips, but _gods_, he had been thinking it), and run-down of her basic behaviors, just to be safe.

Even with all that, his workforce had utterly failed him. Perhaps he would not have them relinquish their lives in repentance, but he would be sure to issue them a _stern_ talking-to.

Although, Larsa would admit he had begun to doubt Penelo's arrival himself, and for that he felt shameful.

But in his own defense, he had reason.

There had been no news of the _Nova_, no absence-clarifying letters, no sightings of delicious flaxen-haired dancers, no lilting voices in his ears - just _nothing_. And he would be damned if he continued to pace around the castle like a lost child _waiting for her_ when had business to attend to elsewhere. Even if business was dull. And lacked Penelo.

So very, _very_ dull.

It had been with a sour mood that he had retired to his study in the north-east wing, requesting that he be left to his own devices unless his personal guest of honor turned up.

Well. They had at least carried out _half _of their duty.

The words Penelo had said didn't quite register to Larsa as he looked on in silent absorption, taking in the new image of the _woman_ before him from his idle seat at his escritoire. He found their interest was mutual from the curious glimmer in her azure gaze and how faintly she leaned in, as if to close the bothersome distance between them.

A lock of her curls fell forward, tumbling down the alabaster slope where neck and shoulder met. Larsa absent-mindedly wondered how long it took for her to manage her hair like that; he'd never seen her tresses in anything besides pig-tails or braids. Some part of him wished she would have done her hair into those twin-plaits she sported last time they'd seen each other. Regrettably, he had never told her how much he enjoyed how they cascaded down her back, or how he thought the blonde paired so nicely with the rich magenta of her bottoms.

These curls were far too… _Archadian_, and to an extent, artificial. They were still lovely, well-formed in their ringlets and vibrantly springy as they framed her face, but Larsa was on the verge of exasperation, reminded of all the superficiality that came with the upper-crust around him. Just a mere glimpse of the _old_ Penelo somewhere on this… person would have been greatly welcome.

Well. If he could manage just a _glimpse_.

It took the majority of Larsa's self-control to hold his gaze above Penelo's collarbone - which, if he may add, was a sinful looking part of the girl in itself. He would not deny that he loved Penelo in that particular shade of chartreuse - as well as in low-cut dresses that showed far too much leg and emphasized curves he had not _nearly_ appreciated enough when he was younger.

This visit seemed it would be more of a challenge to his will-power than actual meeting between friends.

"You… forgot."

Larsa blinked, renewing the picture before him as Penelo made to speak. Her voice was quiet, inflecting upwards slightly, diffidently. The statement sounded more of a question than anything. There were bags underneath her arms - no doubt her luggage - and her fingers had wrapped themselves around the straps with such vigor her knuckles went white.

She looked so delicate with her azure eyes directed at the floor, something heart-wrenchingly plaintive in their expressive depths. He couldn't help the part of him that wanted to shoot up from his chair and rant volumes upon volumes about how incompetent the staff was and how he thought of nothing the past week but of her and how to make her stay more enjoyable. However, Larsa didn't believe in pushing the blame onto his employees - even it _was_ their fault to begin with - as that was not as the men of the House of Solidor were raised.

Then again, more than half of the men of the House of Solidor amounted to tyrants and corrupt politicians _regardless_ of their chivalrous upbringing.

Sigh.

How history loved to play with him.

Larsa slowly pushed his seat from its crook below the escritoire and rose to his feet. He straightened his gilet with elegant, languid hands, somewhat surprised that they were not trembling as his knees were. He made his way around the desk in a steady gait, taking well-measured steps that made nary a sound on the carpet.

Penelo released an audible gasp when - noticing an unfamiliar pair of boots next to her dancer's flats - she lifted her stare to see the face looking _down _at her. It seemed that might take some getting used to. Not a problem; there would be time to grow accustomed to both of their metamorphoses over the span of Penelo's visit. Larsa easily stifled a laugh and smiled as gently as he could, not trying to overwhelm her any more than she obviously was. After a polite bow with hand over heart, he spoke:

"I must apologize. Neither I nor my personnel were as attentive as I would have liked, and it appears you have suffered for it."

He glanced over her left arm as he continued to drink in her new look, but his gaze returned immediately as he realized there was an out-of-place red marring her skin: a fresh wound - one created by a misplaced bolt, no less. Now how did _that_ get there?

"By suffered, let us take it both figuratively and literally, shall we?" Larsa continued and took a step closer, filling their collective silence with his tenor. As he neared, he could not avoid the delightful scent of vanilla and something tart - citrus, maybe - leaving her person. Telling himself to focus, Larsa gently wrapped a steadying hand about the wrist of the injured arm, fingers reveling in her warmth through the silky material of his gloves.

"You were hurt, and from the looks of it, not long ago." He frowned. "Penelo, what hap - ?"

There was a sudden reversal as the previously hushed room came alive with clamor and madness. The door had burst open, hitting the wall with much brio, and steel-clad bodies noisily filed in with weapons bared. There were a mess of incoherent warnings issued, all of them directed at Penelo, who stood paralyzed at his side.

Well, at least his soldiers had been looking for her.

Sigh.

* * *

It had taken a prolonged cessation and an inordinate number of calming breaths, but Larsa had succeeded in clearing the plight between his royal guard and most esteemed visitor, elucidating upon the circumstances that he had been so _certain_ were already made illuminated a week prior. After an innumerable amount of tacit, mechanical apologies were paid to Penelo through the cold screens of steel helmets, Larsa had dismissed the soldiers with a terseness he could not inhibit. A solid aloofness had crept into his icy stare as he watched the metallic duplicates trail through the doorway, thoroughly vexed by their unabashed displays of pride and disobedience. Larsa would address this later. There would be words - words too indelicate to be spoken in the presence of company.

There was silence once more as Larsa seethed furtively near the door of his study, hands twitching fractionally at his sides. If this was his workforce's way of saying _Happy Birthday, Emperor Larsa!,_ they had a damn funny way of showing it.

"That was… interesting." Penelo's voice surprised him. Larsa turned to see her situated in one of the chairs before his desk, looking deceivingly unfazed and - surprisingly - _content_. Resiliency at its finest. "You sure can throw a welcoming party."

Larsa gave a self-deprecating smile. _You haven't the faintest._

"I assure you, I never meant for any of that to happen." He admitted tiredly, padding from the door to the chair adjacent from Penelo's. The words he spoke inspired remorse in his gut. What would Penelo think of him now? An irresponsible emperor with too much on his plate? A recluse with no regard for friends or colleagues? With an inward sigh, Larsa took a seat and folded a leg over the other to retain what decorum he could.

"Don't worry about it." She grinned, head tilted gently to the side. The sunlight permeating the windows splayed brilliantly over her skin and glinted off of her hair, scintillating and golden. However, there was a glow to her all her own, something profoundly and uniquely _Penelo _that Larsa could not quite place. "I can't imagine you plotting something like that, you know? Not when you're so busy."

Larsa blinked, mouth going slack. Only because he was _busy_? She thought he had it in him to devise a scheme culminating in her displeasure?

The vexation on his face must have been more obvious than he had thought. Penelo laughed quietly, knowingly. The cerulean of her eyes shone brightly with suggested mischief.

"What?"

"I was kidding. It was a joke." Her fingers played over the hem of her dress, fidgeting. "Well, not really about the busy part, but I doubt there's a mean bone in your body, Larsa."

The taught custom of modesty, combined with his own knowledge of the Hume race, compelled him to deny this, regardless of how it pleased him to hear such a sentiment. Everyone contained some amount of malice within themselves. Well-hidden or obvious, in great amount or waning, it remained. No matter how much one wanted to believe otherwise, there was always someone - a shining example of tainted standards - close to shatter those ideals, to prove the contrary with an unquestionable authority.

How much of that evil did he share with his brother? How much of that iniquitous blood poisoned his body?

Larsa suppressed a shudder at the thought.

If Vayne was any example, Larsa had his opinions set, no longer blinded by the youthful shroud of naïveté and ignorance.

Shaking his head, Larsa dismissed notions of passed kin and forced a smile to solidify his composure.

"Thank you for your kind words, but I am confident that the same bone present in every other creature can be found in myself as well." He continued before Penelo was able to start the argument that was eager to bound off her tongue. "I am… glad to see you, truly."

"No kidding. I mean, it's all so surreal. You know, sitting with you here?" Penelo shifted in her chair, teeth raking over the soft flesh of her lower lip. "This last week… it…"

There was a nervous titter in her voice that Larsa could not help but pick up, albeit he drew no attention to the discovery. The situation was yet fragile and, despite the inherent warmth and geniality Penelo seemed to tote around wherever she went, required the utmost care in its handling, as most reunions did.

"It's really been… something, Larsa." Penelo eyes, placid and satisfied, softened on the man before her, as if a great struggle had been overcome in these moments, leaving her too exhausted to revel in triumph and with only enough energy to celebrate in small ways.

Still, a victory was a victory.

"Has it?" He returned, more in acceptance than in curiosity. "Something well worth speaking about, perhaps?"

* * *

Letters were an odd thing. You could sit down at your desk and pour out volumes and volumes of inner musings onto parchment without feeling the pressures of social boundaries and society-imposed inhibitions. There was something so utterly personal and impersonal about sending another person a letter filled with your sentiments and passions and convictions. On one hand, there was time to think and plan words, to ensure what needed to be said could be said in the most effective way possible. The receiver could be enlightened to your most cogent perspectives, was more likely to understand what feelings and views were trying to be conveyed. _That _was ineffably and undeniably personal.

On the other hand, you didn't have to see the reader's contorting face, didn't have to hear the sounds of surprise or reprehension or pity that crawled out of their throats, didn't have be anywhere remotely near the person when they ripped open the enveloped and were unfairly bombarded with verbalized psyche and soul. And _that_ was the convenience of the impersonal nature associated with written word.

However, one-on-one conversation with a confidante both estranged and familiar seemed dauntingly impossible. The relationship was personal, but a poignant exchange after so long a time was something to be treated with refinement. And dignity.

Neither were Penelo's strong suit.

So, as Larsa's question registered in Penelo's mind, the young Rabanastran was at a loss. Her heart was yet beating a steady rhythm in her throat. Stale adrenaline continued to circulate through her veins.

Who knew breaking into a palace, being pursued by the royal guard, and finding that the tiny emperor five years her junior wasn't so tiny anymore would be such a rush?

Stranger still, the former two items of that list had already well acquainted themselves with Penelo and never caused her much distress.

Huh.

Gripping her knees with shaky fingers, Penelo attempted a broad grin.

"It's a long story."

The smirk that grew over Larsa's aristocratic features might as well have parted her lips, reached into her chest, and stole the breath from her very lungs. His coy lips twisted into something baiting, something that drew attention to the mischievous glint in his wickedly bright eyes.

"Why, dear Penelo, we have time."

* * *

**A/N**: Yes, I _am_ alive and definitely, without a doubt, continuing _The Meek Shall Inherit_.

I just want to say thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story. I appreciate every single comment I get, truly. Thank you so much. (:

Also, Laikkuseia (YouTube) made a trailer for _TMSI_! Go check it out and tell her how freaking _sweet_ it is. It's more awesome than Larsa sharing a miniature chocobo with Penelo - which is pretty awesome.

/watch?v=dsPnrIVCng8


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